


Feel You in My Dreams

by DevilMadeMeDoIt



Series: Watching You 'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF!Cas, Breathplay, Chair Sex, Coming Untouched, Desk Sex, Dream Sex, Explicit Language, Face-Fucking, Fingerfucking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Rough Sex, Spanking, Spit Kink, bottom!Dean, cas is a seriously kinky fuck, cas is apparently not repressed in his dreams, human!Cas, this is so effing filthy jesus, very top!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilMadeMeDoIt/pseuds/DevilMadeMeDoIt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>oneshot timestamp for Watching You, Watching Me. takes place sometime between chapters 20 and 21. <br/>this would be the dream mentioned in cas' thoughts as dean listens in from the hallway.</p>
<p>its not absolutely necessary to read the main fic for this, this is 100% grade A smut. no plot in sight. although cas is british, so that can explain all the 'bloody's </p>
<p>(Dean is 17, Cas is 28)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel You in My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote a *brief* mention of castiel having a dream/fantasy of dean and office/desk/chair sex.
> 
> and then that poor cockblocked SOB took over my brain and made me write this. i think he's mad at me. 
> 
> there is zero sign of my fluffy sweet castiel in this. he's a damn animal. a filthy, filthy animal.
> 
> enjoy :D

 

Castiel is dreaming.

 

He knows this because the desk chair he is is sitting in is large, comfortable, the leather hugging his body in ways that the simple rolling chair he actually had never could.

 

He is reading one of his well-loved first editions, right leg hooked over the knee of his left when the door of his office creaks open softly. He glances up as Dean struts into his space.

 

Dean is wearing wickedly tight dark blue jeans. His white t-shirt is molded to his chest underneath the supple black leather of an unzipped motorcycle jacket. His green eyes are fever bright and sparkling, his hair tousled as if he had rolled out of bed looking just so perfectly fucked-out and tempting like that.

 

He walks in front of Castiel in his chair and pushes him back on well oiled casters. As he perches his ass on the edge of his desk, his arms sweep behind him and out on either side, sending Castiel's belongings crashing to the floor. Castiel cannot look away from that heated gaze, despite the fact that he knows that Dean's careless gesture has shattered his favorite teacup, and likely ruined several priceless books in the process. He doesn't care.

 

All he can see is the boy in front of him. All he _wants_ is that boy, wrecked and claimed by him and only him.

 

Dean smirks as he leans back on his palms. One booted foot lifts from the floor and drags the toe up to gently kick Castiel's legs apart. The boot continues its journey up his calf, his thigh, until it brushes sweet and heavy against Castiel's arousal.

 

Castiel growls and his fingers encircle the ankle attached to the wandering foot. He yanks, shocking Dean out of his lazy, confident teasing. Castiel's smile is predatory as the boy falls back on his elbows on the desk. The look on his face is so perfectly surprised that Castiel cannot suppress a dark chuckle.

 

Mine now. Too late.

 

Before Dean can right himself on the desk, Castiel is on him, hips pushing between those sinfully bowed legs, pinning him against the wood. His hands are shoving beneath the leather jacket, pushing it roughly off of shoulders that are just beginning to broaden. The jacket is tossed somewhere behind him, he could care less where.

 

Dean is giving him wide eyes, as if he cannot comprehend how he has gotten here. Castiel fists his hands in the boy's t-shirt and hauls him up to crash their lips together in a bruising, punishing kiss.

 

Castiel pulls back from the kiss, nipping at Dean's full bottom lip. He steps back from the boy and reaches up to grip his jaw tightly. With his other hand at Dean's shoulder, he pushes him down to his knees. Carding fingers through that tousled hair, Dean looks up at him as his hands raise to pull at Castiel's belt.

 

Castiel nods. “Good boy. Keep going.” Dean blushes prettily at the praise, and his fingers slip the button from its hole, the slow slide of the zipper making a metallic sound in the silence. Castiel reaches into his slacks, lifting himself out of the opening. He is hard, flushed deep pink with desire, the smooth, rounded crown slick with pre-come.

 

He rocks his hips forward until the wet head of his cock is nudging at Dean's plush pink lips. He groans as his tongue flicks out and laps against him. His hand slips through silky brown hair to rest at the back of Dean's head. He watches with lust-hooded eyes as Dean parts his lips and slides the head of his cock into the burning, slick heat of his mouth. Castiel fights not to buck his hips, fights not to thrust into that mouth until he chokes on his length.

 

Dean is taking him in, inch by inch, the flat of his tongue working against the underside of his cock. When he has taken in all that he can, and the sensitive head is pushing at Dean's throat, the boy shudders and stares up at him. Castiel draws his hips back, pulling against the exquisite suction of that mouth. Dean's hands are resting on the backs of Castiel's thighs, and he reaches down to guide one to his spit-slick shaft.

 

Dean wraps his fingers around his cock and strokes slowly, wrist twisting slightly on each upstroke. His tongue is playing over the crown, kitten licks and and tracing patterns as his hand works him with a steady pace. Fire is burning in Castiel's gut.

 

The only warning that Castiel gets that Dean is about to change up what he is doing is a tiny flicker of mischief in the green depths of his eyes. His hand pulls away from him and Castiel's head is thrown back with a shout as Dean shoves his mouth down around him, forcing his cock deep into his throat. He fucks his own throat with Castiel's cock, lips slack and open wide. Castiel's hand fists in the hair under his fingers and he thrusts into that pliant mouth, groaning each time Dean swallows around him, the muscles in his throat fluttering around his length.

 

Castiel takes his pleasure from that wet, yeilding heat, thrusting as carefully as possible. He feels himself growing closer, and closer, but this is far from over yet. He has not waited for so long for this to be over yet. With a rumbling moan, Castiel thrusts once more into Dean's mouth, pushing as deep as he can go. His hand holds Dean's head down until his nose is pressed into Castiel's groin. He chokes, making desperate noises for air as he waits. One second, three, five. He lets go of Dean's hair and the boy pulls back with a gasp that falls off into a groan. Castiel looks down to see the swollen lips, strings of saliva trailing from Dean's mouth to his cock, and bloody hell could he come just from the debauched look on his hunter's face alone.

 

He strokes a thumb over the boy's lower lip, sliding it inside briefly. “Stand up, Dean.” He complies and stands before him. Castiel slides his hands over Dean's body, pushing up under his t-shirt to feel the play of muscle under skin. He pulls the shirt off and groans appreciatively at the sight. His hands drop to Dean's waist, following the line of his jeans to the center. He pops open the button and pulls the zipper down by the tab. Fingers slide under the elastic of Dean's tight black boxer briefs, and Dean moans softly when he palms both cheeks, spreading them apart and squeezing before pushing underwear and jeans off his ass to puddle at his feet.

 

Castiel takes Dean's hard, aching cock in hand and strokes loosely, providing little friction when the boy bucks his hips into the circle of his fingers. He strokes until Dean is panting out sweet little frustrated cries, and then gives one long, tight pull.

 

With hands on his hips, Castiel turns Dean until he is facing the desk. “Elbows down on the desk. Spread your legs and arch your back.” Dean does as he's told, bending over the desk, presenting his tight, oh-so-fuckable little ass to Castiel's hungry gaze. Dean looks over his shoulder at him, biting down on his lip as he watches Castiel watch him.

 

Castiel wants to be inside Dean right fucking now. He reaches out towards Dean's mouth with two fingers. “Suck. Get them wet so that I can fuck you open for my cock.” Dean moans at his words and opens his mouth to take the fingers inside. He laves each digit with his tongue, covering them with as much saliva as he possibly can. When Castiel can wait no longer, he slips his fingers from Dean's mouth and brings them up to stroke against his hole. Dean cries out as he teases, pressing the tip of one finger inside gently before circling around the rim of that pretty little pucker. He pushes one finger again, just inside, and Dean must anticipate his teasing because his hips shove back and his entire finger disappears with that tight ring of muscle squeezing down on him.

 

He slaps Dean's ass with his free hand, causing the boy to yelp. “Impatient. You take what I give you, Dean.” His hand connects with skin again, hard, and he is momentarily distracted by the clear red handprint rising to the surface of his skin. Dean is whining and rocking oh-so-subtly against the desk, trying to get his finger to move. Castiel grins. He hooks the finger inside Dean as he pulls it out, and his fingernail scrapes gently against Dean's sweet spot. He keens and spasms against the desk.

 

He pulls the finger out completely and Dean whimpers. He wants Dean wet and he has no supplies. He spits in his hand and then rubs it over Dean's hole, slipping a finger in fast and hard. He fucks that one finger in and out, rubbing every other time over Dean's prostate. He lines up a second finger and just strokes the rim with it as he twists his wrist. Dean is moaning on every stroke in. Jesus...he only has one finger in. This boy was determined to make him come in his trousers.

 

He pulls the fingers away again and holds his hand under Dean's chin. “Spit. Want you dripping wet when I fuck you.” Dean blushes and looks at him, hesitating. Castiel smirks. “I can fuck you with out it, Dean. This is a courtesy. Up to you.” Dean blushes again and glares at him as he spits in Castiel's hand. Castiel gives him a brisk smack on the ass. “Good boy.”

 

He spreads the new source of lubrication on Dean and without preamble, shoves two fingers in. Dean huffs out a punched-out moan and clenches around the fingers, rocking his hips just slightly, desperate for Castiel to do something. Castiel moves his hand, hard and fast, slamming his fingers into Dean's hole. He scissors the fingers as he goes, stretching and getting him ready. He slips his ring finger into the mix and pauses, stroking. Dean is still, but his breaths are panting, frantic. “Can you take three, Dean?” The boy moans hard. “Cas! Oh God, yes!” He takes the permission granted and squeezes the third finger in. Holy God he is tight. So bloody tight. He fucks Dean with his fingers for another minute before he can stand it no longer. He needs to be inside that tight, wet, clenching body. Now.

 

He slips his fingers out and Dean groans in disappointment. He brings his wet fingers down hard against Dean's ass, the slickness making the slap sharper, louder. Dean screams and bites his lip through a sob. “Now, now Dean.” He soothes gently over the red welt raising on his skin. When his breathing calms, Castiel toes his shoes off and pushes his slacks off of his ass, kicking out of them.

 

He sits in the big leather chair and reaches out for Dean's hips, guiding him back to straddle him in reverse, back to his chest. Castiel scoots down into the seat and lifts Dean so that he is sitting on Castiel's stomach. It isn't the most comfortable of positions, but it won't be for long, and now he can wrap a hand around both his and Dean's leaking cocks. Dean's head falls back against his shoulder and Castiel kisses and sucks at the side of his neck as he strokes them together. Dean begins whimpering with every pass of his hand, and Castiel knows he is close. Dean is bucking his hips into Castiel's fist when he pulls away, and he sobs in frustration.

 

He licks his way up to Dean's ear, wet fingers sliding to tease and pinch at one of his nipples. “Dean, I'm going to give you a choice. I can use my hand and make you come like that, or I can fuck you, and you can come on my cock untouched. What do you want, Dean?” He purred, licking the shell of Dean's ear. His hand slid down the boy's stomach fingers reaching for his cock. Dean's hand on his wrist stopped him. “Please....” He whispered. “Please fuck me, Cas. Please. That's what I want.”

 

Castiel groaned. “Good boy.” He spat in his palm again and slicked himself up. He gripped onto Dean's hips and lifted him against his stomach. With an arm around his waist he lined himself up with Dean's hole. He kissed the trembling boy behind his ear. “Ready, love?” Dean could only nod desperately.

 

He rocked his hips up at the same time he pulled Dean down and sank home, so deep inside. Dean cried out as he filled him so completely. “Fuck, Dean....you are so bloody tight. How are you still so tight?” Castiel's voice was strained. He wasn't going to last long. Fuck. He reached down with both hands and pulled Dean's legs up against his chest.

 

They both took a second to adjust to the new angle, and then all bets were off. Castiel snapped his hips against Dean as hard as he could, fucking into him as hard and as fast as he could possibly move. He pounded deep into that tight, slick channel, over and over until Dean's beautiful sobbing moans dissolved into a high, continuous keening. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Castiel dug his fingertips into the back of Dean's knees and slammed himself inside, hips losing their punishing rhythm as he started to come apart at the seams. He managed to hold himself off long enough to shout out. “Jesus Christ Dean, fucking come now! Come now, love!” Dean screamed as he clenched down impossibly hard around Castiel. He thrust inside a bare handful more times and then he froze, buried to the hilt and spilled hot and thick inside Dean.

 

Castiel woke shouting Dean's name into the empty air of his bedroom. He was soaked in sweat...and other things if the enormous wet spot dripping down his hip meant anything.

 

He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face.

 

That boy was going to bloody kill him one of these days.


End file.
